One Good Thing
by sylvi10
Summary: A conversation between Robin and Allan. Postscript to 1x07 "Brothers in Arms"


I leave the wedding celebration as soon as I can reasonably do so without giving offense. It is getting towards dusk now. They will not miss me in the growing darkness and jubilation. Only Much sees me go, but when he opens his mouth to call me back I just shake my head. I need to be alone.

I have been reminded of Marian through all the long afternoon, and her acceptance of Gisborne's marriage proposal, such as it was. More like a threat: _Marry me, or I'll not be able to protect you and your father from the sheriff._ Gisborne! She does not love him. Later I will think of a way to release her from her promise, I swear it, but right now I'm just angry.

I hear their conversation over and over as I make my way through the forest, her words echoing in my head, _I despise Robin Hood_, so that by the time I reach the camp I'm fuming. I kick one of Much's cooking pots at a tree and then startle as someone leaps to his feet.

Damn. It's Allan. I'd forgotten about him since I noticed his absence from the wedding hours ago. Allan didn't want to be celebrating any more than I did, probably much less. He doesn't say anything, just stares at me across the cold ashes of the fire, eyes wide and wary.

I reach into a pocket and pull out a cake, toss it to him, and watch as he turns it over and over in his hand as if trying to determine its purpose.

"I'm sorry."

These are the first words I've spoken to him since we entered Nottingham this morning. With everything that's happened in between, the hanging feels like it took place weeks ago – right up until now, when I see him here in front of me. Now it is as if mere moments have passed, and I cannot tell if I'm apologizing for having burst in upon Allan's grief like this, or for having failed to save his brother in the first place.

Apparently, Allan isn't sure either. "Um, that's alright," he mutters, sitting back down, still looking at the cake with an odd expression.

I busy myself with starting the fire, building up a delicate structure of sticks and twigs that lean against each other for support, then add larger pieces of wood as the flames catch. When it burns strongly and I can no longer avoid doing so, I sit down near Allan, but not too near, and with a sigh I start over.

"I'm sorry about your brother, Allan. I wish we could have saved him, I truly do."

"I know that, Robin." He sounds surprised. "It's not your fault, and anyway, you did more for Tom than he deserved. I'm grateful to you for tryin'."

The ground feels suddenly uncomfortable, and I shift a bit. I failed, and still he thanks me. As if just trying is good enough. As if wanting is enough. It is not.

But Allan is speaking again, softly, as he stares into the fire.

". . . thinkin' maybe I should go, you know? Just take myself off somewhere else."

It's a question. How does he want me to answer it?

"We need you here, Allan." As I speak the words, I know they are true, but Allan's uncertain glance demands an explanation. "You're quick to come up with a plan, you're good in a fight, and you can talk your way into and out of just about anything. We are stronger with you."

"I don't know. You all risked yourselves for my brother today, for me. After all the trouble he caused . . . he wasn't worth it. I'm not either. I don't want to be the reason for anythin' bad happenin' – not to any of you."

"We're a family, Allan. That is what families do. They look after each other." Of course, I must consider that this may be a new concept for Allan.

I pause because the next thing I'm going to say is important. It's hard for me to say, though, and I'm not sure why. Perhaps it will be even harder for him to hear, but I want to make sure that he does.

"And you are worth it."

Those eyes again as he looks over at me. They hold so much wonder and pain and hope. They are so full of this man's vulnerability that I want more than anything to look away. But I don't.

"I'm afraid I'll end up lettin' you down, is all."

This might be the most honest thing I've ever heard Allan say.

"You won't let us down," I reassure him. "You told me you have changed because of being here, because of being with us."

"Yeah, well, I thought Tom could change, too. Turned out I was wrong about that."

"People can change," I say. "I know because I have."

Then he surprises me.

"No, Robin, you 'aven't. I didn't know you before, but I bet you were all good and noble then, too. You might live in the forest 'stead of a manor, and technically you're an outlaw now, not an earl. But you're still takin' care of your people, and you're still loyal to your king. Still followin' all your grand ideals. Sure, you have all this stuff now 'bout not killin', but you're the same person at heart."

I feel a chill. The sun has set, and I get up to place another log on the fire. He says all this without malice, as if he's showing me something admirable about myself, but it pains me to hear because what if he is right? What if I am the same? The same man who deserted the woman he loves in order to fight for his king? The same man who believed in a cause greater than her love? Who believed that such a thing could even exist?

The truth is that I don't know. I don't know how my choices might be different now than they were all those years ago. I do know that I lost Marian again today.

I turn to walk away, but then Allan surprises me once more.

"Did you know about Djaq? About her brother, I mean?"

"Djaq has a brother?"

"Yeah. I mean, she did, a twin. He got killed in the war. She said she took his name and tried to become him. She told me her brother . . . she told me that he lives inside of her."

There's another question in there somewhere, but I am halfway gone now, and I try for humor instead. "Don't ever let me catch you doing that!"

It's not something to joke about, I realize this as soon as the words leave my mouth and curse myself as a horrified look crosses his face. He's not upset with me, though. He bows his head as if it's a well-earned reprimand rather than a tactless deflection on my part. In his own way he's been telling me all along, but suddenly I see, really understand, just how much he doubts himself. God knows I've had doubts enough in my life, especially recently, but not like this. Nothing like this. I have to do something, or I'm going to lose Allan for good.

I kneel in front of him, hands on his shoulders, and wait until he meets my gaze. Then slowly and clearly I say what he needs to hear.

"You are not your brother, Allan. You are my friend, and I trust you. We all do. We all depend upon one another, and you are one of us. Don't ever forget that, and you will not let us down."

Voices reach us through the trees and the darkness, light and happy. Singing, laughing, calling out. The rest of the gang is returning.

"Thank you, Robin," Allan all but whispers. But there is a new look in his eyes now. Steady and determined, if still sad.

The gang comes in quietly when they see us there, and I move away. They place their hands on Allan's shoulders and head, stand near him, offer soft smiles. He looks up at them all with a cautious smile of his own. Then he's standing in the center of their small group, asking about the wedding, nodding at their words, and beginning to tease lightly about who danced with whom and how much food Much ate.

I watch them contentedly. I have done at least this one good thing: I have brought these people together.

Then I step beyond the circle of firelight and leave the gang behind, and I enjoy this moment of peace I sought earlier when I found Allan instead.


End file.
